


Precaution

by AdelaCathcart



Series: Request Fics [6]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Book of Dust - Philip Pullman
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Melodrama, Poison, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelaCathcart/pseuds/AdelaCathcart
Summary: He might well have taken his entire glass in a single gulp and died, but his lover was at the far end of the drawing room, and before he drank he paused to glance at her.
Relationships: Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter
Series: Request Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029141
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23
Collections: 30PlusFanfic Prompt Channel Fics





	Precaution

As soon as he tasted it he knew the wine was poisoned.

The nose was a little odd, of course, but then the Austral embassy’s cellars were notoriously ill-kept. It was of a piece with the congealed hollandaise, dry fish, and runny aspic served at dinner, and Lord Asriel entertained a humorous suspicion that these were gestures of lingering resentment on behalf of a former colony. He would have thought nothing more of it—might well have taken his entire glass in a single gulp and died—but his lover was at the far end of the drawing room, and before he drank he paused to glance at her.

Glances were all he’d get of her tonight, so he'd taken care to sit where he could see. She stood with hands on elbows at the periphery of the wives, whose conversation she found unutterably boring. She had sighed, lifting her golden head to cast about the room abstractedly, and he caught from her the look of desperate longing, a look better suited to the bedroom, which after all was how he knew her best. His heart stuttered and they looked away from each other at once, he found the unattractive wine still poised at his lips and sipped it without thinking. A young diplomatic aide, whose name no one seemed to know, was watching him tensely. He relaxed the moment Asriel swallowed.

Bitterness bloomed on the back of his tongue, and that was when he realized what had happened. Immediately he stood and walked out of the drawing room, saying nothing, Stelmaria stumbling after. Already he felt himself weakening, and slumped in the arched doorway to catch his breath. “Lord Asriel! What the devil’s wrong?” demanded the Austral ambassador.

“Send for a doctor!” he replied, but he could trust none of them now. He had a glimpse of Marisa, her face gray, her knuckles stark white in her dæmon’s fur. Then he wrenched the door open and lurched into the courtyard. He ducked his head under a fountain and gulped water until he could vomit, and then he fell into an open cab and blurted the name of his house. After that he knew no more.

There passed an age of nothingness, interrupted by brief awful moments of lucidity. Wet city streets and nausea. His old manservant’s strong, familiar arms. A light shined in his face. Purgative measures, cold porcelain. Delirium. Stelmaria’s moonstone eyes smearing the dark. A gentle fathomless void.

_Ave cuius conceptio, solemni plena gaudio, celestia, terrestria, nova replet letitia._

Someone was praying. He sensed a woman’s shoe pacing the floorboards, faintly, for her step was always light. Warm rain dampening his shirt. A cool and welcome hand upon his head. He was dreaming, surely. He sank again.

_Ave cuius nativitas, nostra fuit solemnitas, ut lucifer lux oriens verum solem preveniens._

A cold glass pressed against his mouth, and water dribbled in. “No, please,” he groaned, turning away. The glass withdrew. He licked his lips and lay still for a few laborious breaths. Pain throbbed in his temples; his ears were ringing. With an effort he forced himself to raise his head.

It was night, and Marisa was perched on the side of his bed, with elbows on her knees and her fists jammed into her eyes. Her shoulders were shaking. A rosary was wrapped around her palm.

“Get rid of that,” he muttered weakly, swatting for it, and she jumped. She wiped her face with an apologetic smile.

“A silly old habit.” She helped him to sit up.

“What on earth… ‘re you doing here...?”  
  
“I had to come. I was a wreck at home. Edward thought I was frightened for his sake, poor fool. As soon as he was asleep I called for a cab.” She was still wearing her evening gown, he noticed, but every trace of paint was rubbed away from her swollen, pinkish eyes. She reached to the floor and he heard a trickle of water; a moment later a cold cloth was laid across his forehead.  
  
“That young aide,” he tried to say. “The one with the civet dæmon… he…”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. They found arsenic in your glass, you know. He tried to slip out just when things were getting exciting.”

“Did he.”

Marisa smiled faintly. “He didn’t get very far.”

Polite knuckles rapped at the bedroom door. “Pardon me. Mrs. Coulter, Frith is ready for you with the car,” Thorold said softly. She stood, dabbing at her eyes again, and collected her wrap and her purse from the heap of clothes on the armchair.

“Thank you, Thorold. The patient's just coming around now. Tell Frith I’ll be down in a minute.”  
  
“Very good, Madam.”

Asriel scowled. “Marisa. What did you do?”

“I? Why, nothing! It’s quite sad, you know, darling. He walked in front of a train.”

“He—?“

“I’m afraid I really must be off. It’s gone three—”  
  
“ _Marisa_.” He grabbed her wrist, and when she turned to look at him her eyes were full of terrible despair. With a fluid twist her hand was holding his, and she lifted it to her face and pressed her hot mouth hard against his sweating pulse.

“You can’t leave me here alone,” she said. “Go anywhere you like in this world, I don’t care, but if you leave it you must take me. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t. I can’t bear it without you.”

He was speechless. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. After a moment the monkey hopped between them and pushed her towards the door.  
  
Once she had gone, and her footsteps had faded on the stairs, he drank the glass of water she’d tried to give him. Stelmaria, still drowsy, shuffled up the bed and licked his lank hair with her bristly tongue, combing it into stiff ridiculous peaks, which she only did when he was very ill. He began to snore and she settled down beside him, seeing the rosary left hanging from the bedpost, saying nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Marisa's prayer is "Ave Maria... Virgo serena" ("Hail Mary... Serene virgin"), composed by Josquin des Prez in the late 15th century. The verses she quotes are traditionally translated as:
> 
> _Hail, thou whose conception,  
>  full of great jubilation,  
> heaven and earth is meet  
> with new gladness replete._
> 
> _Hail, thou whose nativity  
>  brought us solemnity,  
> like a light-bearer, the Eastern light,  
> was to true sun prevenient._
> 
> Written in response to a prompt from an anonymous tumblr user: "I would love to see some early Masriel hurt/comfort for the fluff to their angst. Sickness or injury or whatever."
> 
> Send a tumblr ask with a prompt to @torrefaction-of-silver and I might write you a mini-fic!


End file.
